I’d guess Madison Ave has found us again, what with a movie in the works and everyone focused on “greening” their septic little township, doubly savaged by the exodus of industry and the continued plummet in home prices.

The image of the fly fisherman plying his craft offered up to establish a little bit of quaint, and a lot of pristine –  because fly fishermen, like other forms of exotic wildlife, only exist in scenic and rural haunts …

While them clever advertising types might have rediscovered our appeal, it’s plain they haven’t been in tune with all the revolutionary changes to the sport, like Goat’s Milk from Mongolia, how we’re the dimwits leaving all those predatory aliens in our wake, and the entire Brown water movement.

Just because there’s a fly fisherman dumb or desperate enough to fish in a sewage outflow doesn’t mean you should drink the water.

A bloody important distinction given the grocery list of toxins and shots needed before the rod is pulled from its quiver.

I had a similar civic-minded bent, convincing the locals that the prospect of “trophy brown” might lure some of the well-to-do element into settling our little burg. We shot plenty of footage and lost a cameraman or two, but I never saw it air … and always wondered why.